


mother, daughter, sister, wife

by crossingwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Gen, This fic contains references to canonical past abuse: physical and sexual, additionally references to past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-21
Updated: 2015-03-21
Packaged: 2018-03-18 23:07:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3587466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossingwinter/pseuds/crossingwinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Never trust a crow.  They’ll eat the flesh off your bones if you host them long enough.  Don’t you talk to them—not a one.  And don’t you fucking dare let them see the larder.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	mother, daughter, sister, wife

“Only you can do that, Gilly.”

She knew what he was going to ask—knew it and the world closed around her again and she was back at Craster’s. It was hardly different, after all—inside the keep and inside Lord Snow’s chambers.  All smokey and dark, with rays of dusty sunlight that reminded you that you were inside and not out, that you had no place to go but here and that even if you were to scream and cry it would be no use. 

_Never trust a crow.  They’ll eat the flesh off your bones if you host them long enough.  Don’t you talk to them—not a one.  And don’t you fucking dare let them see the larder._

She shook her head, shook it slowly, then faster, and faster, because she’d gotten out of there, Sam had helped her get out. They’d come back so far, farther than Gilly had ever known could exist in the whole world.  Surely they were on the other side of the world now. Surely she was too far from Craster’s to feel suddenly like she was back again. Surely, surely, surely. “No.  Please, no.”

The raven screamed “no,” too, and wildly she wondered if the Lord Crow would listen.  Crows and Ravens, they weren’t so different, and if the raven agreed, then perhaps the crow would hear reason as well.  Both were black, after all.  Black brothers. 

But maybe brothers were different than sisters. Gilly wouldn’t know. She’s never had brothers that had lived longer than an hour or two.

Lord Snow’s face was hard—harder than even when she first met him, when Sam brought her to him, so sure that he would help. He hadn’t helped then and she knew that he wouldn’t help now.  He thought nothing of her.  Nothing at all.  She was nothing but trouble, her and her boy.

_Else had a boy. A small thing, smaller than Aly’s girl.  Small and pink and wailing, and Else had wept when he’d been born and within the hour he was gone to the snows and the gods and it was as if he’d never been.  No one spoke of Else’s swollen milky breasts, or the way her stomach sagged beneath her dress.  Her next babe would be a girl, her mother said, but that had not quenched Else’s weeping.  Only Craster’s bellowed “Quiet!” and a crack across her cheek that knocked a tooth loose made her go quiet, though it didn’t stop her tears. She just held them inside, and shuddered and mourned the loss of a boy who never could live._

_She’d only have girls, Gilly thought, curled up next to her mother.  She hadn’t bled yet, and hadn’t married Craster yet. She’d only ever have girls._

“Refuse, and the boy will burn,” Lord Snow said. It was funny how men sounded like they cared.  She’d heard it with crows and wildlings alike.  They sounded like they cared, and perhaps they did, but never about her. He might care about the boy’s life, but he cared more for that boy and his king’s blood than he ever cared for Gilly and her son, for Gilly and Craster’s son. 

“Not on the morrow, nor the day after…but soon, whenever Melisandre needs to wake a dragon or raise a wind or work some other spell requiring king’s blood.  Mance will be ash and bone by then, so she will claim his son for the fire, and Stannis will not deny her.  If you do not take the boy away, _she will burn him.”_

_Her mother had told her that so long as she kept quiet, there wouldn’t be anything to fear. So long as she did as she was told, she had nothing to fear.  If Craster was hungry, you got him food.  If Craster came to your bed, you gave him a daughter.  If Craster told you keep away from the crows, you keep away from the crows._

_And Gilly did as she was told.  She didn’t like being hit, not by Craster, not by her mother, so she did as she was told. She didn’t like shouting, though there was little that would keep Craster from shouting when he was in a temper._

She didn’t like the look in Lord Snow’s eyes. She didn’t like the hardness there. She didn’t want to know what he’d do if she said no. “I’ll go.  I’ll take him, I’ll take the both o’ them, Dalla’s boy _and_ mine.” But no matter how she told herself not to cry, there were hot tears streaming down her cheeks now and her insides curled up inside her, and she heard the rustling of feathers as the raven shuffled about but for the life of her she couldn’t understand why the feathers sounded like skirts.  It shouldn’t sound the same.  It should sound different, but there they were, swishing and sounding like home, since most didn’t wear skirts here the way they did back home.

“Take both boys and the queen’s men will ride after you and drag you back.  The boy will still burn…and you with him.  You’ll take one boy, and that one Dalla’s.”

She couldn’t breathe.  She couldn’t breathe at all.  She’d wanted a girl, prayed for a girl, because if she had a girl then Craster wouldn’t take her away, but she had a boy, and Sam helped them _both_ away so they could stay together but there wasn’t any together, not when Lord Snow would rip them apart and care not at all about it.  King’s blood is all he cares about, not _her_ blood.  He’s a bastard, but he’s a Stark bastard, and Craster always said that southerners care more about their lordly titles than they care about their folk.  She wasn’t his folk. 

_She liked being outside and feeling the cold wind of the late summer air biting her cheeks.  She remembered the winter.  It had been cold, and dark, and she had been so small, and she had had sisters to curl up next to when she slept._

Would he listen if a brother begged? She wasn’t his brother.

“A mother can’t leave her son, or else she’s cursed forever. Not a _son_.  We _saved_ him, Sam and me. Please.  Please, m’lord.  We saved him from the cold.”

_She dreamed that she bled the baby out between her legs the way that Farna did._

_She nightmared it was a boy._

“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though…do you see the candle, Gilly?

She looked at the flame.  “Yes.”

“Touch it.  Put your hand over the flame.”

She felt her eyes widen, and her lip tremble.

“Do it.  Now.” 

_The Lord Crow thinks I’m not worth shit, but I’m the one that keeps his rangers alive, aren’t I?  When Ben Stark stops by, it’s me what feeds him and tells him what I know and keeps his pretty head on his pretty shoulders, though gods know why I do it._

She extended her hand and already feels the warmth from the flame.  It was almost pleasant, if pleasantness could turn your skin sickly.

“Down.  Let it kiss you.”

_Come here, girl. Come give your father a kiss._

The closer her hand got, the more she felt a fever. It didn’t feel even close to pleasant anymore.  It _hurt_ it—it—

_When first Craster came to her, it hurt and she bled.  His breath stank of sour wine and his grunts sounded like the pig’s._

She snatched her hand back and felt a sob rip out of her.

 _Crying? What’ve you got to cry for? I’ll give you something to cry for if you want to cry so bad.  Now shut up_!

“Fire is a cruel way to die.  Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him.  You saved your own boy from the ice.  Now save hers from the fire.”

“They’ll burn my babe, then.  The red woman.  If she can’t have Dalla’s, she’ll burn mine.”

“Your son has no king’s blood.  Melisandre gains nothing by giving him to the fire. Stannis wants the free folk to fight for him, he will not burn an innocent without good cause. Your boy will be safe. I will find another wet nurse for him and he’ll be raised here at Castle Black under my protection. He’ll learn to hunt and ride, to fight with sword and axe and bow.  I’ll even see that he is taught to read and write.”  Sam would like that, he was always talking about reading. “And when he is old enough, he will learn the truth of who he is.  He’ll be free to seek you out if that is what he wants.”

_You like songs of Southron kings?  What makes them so great?  They’re all dead, and not a one of them’s as pretty as the songs sung about them.   They’re all bastards.  Every king’s a bastard.  His queenly mother’s got men all around her. None of my girls are bastards though.  Every one’s my own trueborn daughter._

“You will make a crow of him.”  She reached her stung hand up to wipe tears away from her cheeks.  She wouldn’t cry anymore in front of Lord Snow, she wouldn’t—but sometimes her body betrayed her, like when it got pregnant when she never wanted a babe because what if Craster…what if Craster took him away from her.  She will not cry.  She won’t.  “I won’t. “I won’t.”

“You will.  Else I promise you, the day they burn Dalla’s boy, yours will die as well.”

“ _Die_ ,” shrieked the raven.  “ _Die, die, die.” I’d sooner die_ , she thought, biting back tears.  _I’d sooner die than leave him here.  I’d sooner…_

_Craster said that men were vicious things, and cruel.  And she had always believed him for he would know—he was a man. But the fat one named Sam didn’t seem half-so cruel as Craster told her crows were.  He sent the wolf away, and when he asked her why she was crying, he wanted to help._

_Craster said that men were cruel, but Sam was kind.  Sam told her he would try to help, and he did try.  He did.  It was his friend, the surly one named Jon who wanted nothing to do with her. He was more like a man that Craster would describe.  Harsh, and distant, and unfeeling._

_At least Gilly’s son would be…Jon Snow wouldn’t help him, but Sam said he would, and when Sam smiled and patted her on the shoulder, she liked to think she could believe him._

_It was the only thing she had—believing in Sam.  If she didn’t believe Sam, she had to pray for a girl._

She closed her eyes, felt her breath quivering on her lips.

“You have my leave to go.  Do not dare speak of this, but see that you are ready to depart an hour before first light.  My men will come for you.”

 _Will you shut up! You think I’m bad? There’s way worse than_ me _out there in the snows. If you want to try your luck I dare you.  Go on. Go!_


End file.
